Aftershock
by braziliangirl2
Summary: E&B are journalists with different points of view about life and work. They work together, but only give in to their feelings for each other when a natural disaster threatens to break them apart. AH - O/S written for TwiFans for Haiti's campaign.
1. Aftershock

_A/N: I must thank MsKathy for her initiative to help Haitian victims of the earthquake and also for the generosity of "Twit-ro-ducing" me to her amazing beta. This awesome girl is TwilightMundi, who deciphered my PortEnglish enigma and made this little story work in actual English. Thank you, guys! And, please, let's keep Haitian people in our thoughts._

_Disclaimer: Edward and Bella belong to SM. I put them together in a darkroom and just look at what they did there…_

*~*~*~*

_**Aftershock**_

_Oh, no… You shouldn't be doing this… So bad. Very very bad…_

... Ahem.

That would be my mind thinking.

Happily, it was up to my body to do the talking right now.

"Oh, yes! Yes! So good. So so so... So good…" I mumbled, incapable of articulating anything else. I could feel my second climax building and was willing to hold on to the great sensation. It was beyond anything I ever felt before.

"Fuuuck!" Edward whispered, closing his eyes. Our foreheads were touching and each time he whispered profanities I could feel his tasty breath washing over my face. Hot air, a remnant of mint and man. Scented just like him.

He had me. I couldn't think of anything else. Not the risky situation. Not that we could get caught – and fired.

All I thought was him… inside me.

And the way our hot bodies rocked against each other, his hand preventing my back from bumping into the thick wall.

His other hand held my hips; his fingers were pressed deep in my skin while he pushed in and out of me. My legs enveloped his body tightly, my heels scratching behind his thighs, luckily still covered and protected in slacks. The movement of him burying his hardness in me, filling and stretching me was almost maddening.

Everything about him and our surroundings spurred me on. The alluring amber lights in this small darkroom. Even the strong odors coming from the chemicals in the trays that held my now-ruined photos. And, oh, his strong chest moving against my hard nipples…. The latter made me very grateful I'd opened his shirt and that he'd taken off my dress.

My deep blue dress. One of many that he teases me about. All Chanel-like, with classical and elegant cut so I can look like the professional I am. Edward says I dress like a _petite bourgeoisie_. Yeah, his French accent is perfect and even this little offense sounds hot coming out of his mouth. Not fair.

Plus, I bet he thinks his combination of slightly scruffy slacks and shoes, with rolled up sleeves and an eventually loosened tie around his sturdy neck is the ultimate defiance look.

For the entire last year clothing was only one of many things on which we disagreed. The animosity between us started from day one. It was almost twelve months ago that I started as a section news editor for The NY Daily Globe. One day in my first week there I was on my way to get my coffee fix when I heard a commotion coming from the kitchen.

"Shit! Why do I always have to make a mess?!" a man groaned, the sound echoing through the hall.

"Relax, man. You've been distracted, that's all," the owner of the other voice was repressing a laugh, apparently. Yet his tone was low and melodic. "Here, this will absorb…-No! Not the international pages, man!"

"What!? Jeez… Were you planning on keeping them? These are from _last week_!"

"It doesn't matter. Ok… Here you go. Culture. This is suitable to clean coffee, wrap fish and stuff." Now he was actually laughing.

I took that as my cue.

"Excuse me?" I asked from the door, holding my arms down and closing my fists so I could resist the urge to put my hands on my waist.

"What?" he asked as he turned to face me from across the room, holding the smile on his face. I momentarily lost my words. His green eyes, messed hair and thick jaw suddenly diminished my hate. And I hated myself for allowing that.

"Let me introduce myself," I said, in an instant unease that made me annoyed. "I'm Bella Swan, culture news editor for Daily Globe," I recovered myself, putting my hand out, making a head movement motioning to the pages on the floor while I gave him my best bitchy-angry face.

The smug bastard just kept smiling. Maybe even more than before. He was clearly making fun of me. He also didn't take my hand. I was about to retrieve it when the blond one took it for a quick shake.

"Err… Nice to meet you Miss Swan. I'm Jasper Whitlock, senior reporter of the Political section…." He was clearly embarrassed and seemed very polite. The gentlemanly type, _an endangered species,_ I thought. I could imagine in front of me an updated version of Henry Fleming, from Crane's _The Red Badge of Courage_. Maybe Alice would like to meet him....

I dared to focus my eyes on the smug handsome and the _prick_ was still smiling. Well, I was not.

"And you are…?" I had to swallow my pride, because my curiosity was bigger.

"Edward Cullen, investigative reporter and special correspondent" he answered, looking amused, with his arms crossed in front of him and a steaming mug in hand.

And then it hit me. His prize-winning covers of the Afghanistan and Iraq wars were part of the reason I had looked for a position at that very newspaper. Those pieces had put Daily Globe's name side by side with the bigger newspapers once again.

His articles were inspirational. Not only for the writing style, but mostly because, through his text, he came out as a natural story teller. His point of view was unique and guaranteed to ensure that the Daily Globe constantly had something different from other publications.

Judging by the kind of real characters whose life stories he presented in his articles, one could say he was a brave reporter with techniques from the old school. He was always in the field, searching through people, while other colleagues did their research through phone calls and the Internet – inside climate-controlled and safe rooms.

I myself am more like a safety-seeker. Besides my love for literature and all kids of art, that was what brought me to the culture section in the first place. It was rare for one to get hurt inside a museum or a library – of course I could manage being an exception to that statement.

With my lack of luck and clumsiness I couldn't afford working in a war, barely in the streets. But I admired journalists who did. And Edward Cullen was the first name on that list. Of course when I read his articles I didn't imagine him being so young or sexy. Nor so full of himself either….

"Well, Cullen, I suppose your articles get framed at the end of the day, huh? If they aren't recycled as fish wrappers or dog house covers with the rest of the paper..." I trailed off.

"I'm sorry if I insulted you," he said, the smoldering tone in his voice running in full mode. "But I really don't think many people would miss it if the paper came out one day without the culture pages. But take away political or international articles and you'll probably see the edition stuck all day in the newsstand. No one will buy it." His emphasis was final.

"I can't believe you just said that…" My voice came out weak, what only made me angrier. I was too offended to disguise.

"Look, it isn't personal…. You see, you just began here, right?" I gave a slight nod and he continued. "I'm certain it will take only a couple of months until you're able to conquer a position in an important section yourself. Culture will be just the beginning, I bet."

My rational side knew he was trying to put my mind at ease. But meanwhile he was upsetting me beyond reason. And he seemed to have no clue of this at all. Oh, if only he could read my mind….

I just turned around on my heel and left the kitchen without another word. And no coffee either.

If anyone had told me then that one year later I would be in this darkroom with _him_ I would have said it was craziness. Madness, lunacy even.

But in this very moment…

…breathing his hot breath,

…feeling the tight hold of his arms around me and

…his hard-on pushing in to ignite every pleasure cord I had, uh…

I felt crazy, mad and lunatic for not realizing sooner how every time he picked on me, every single time he pushed my buttons and made me angry, during all these months, were just a sick kind of foreplay for both of us.

"_Isabella._" My name coming out of his lips was the sexiest thing I've ever heard. He called me that since he discovered my real name and that I used and preferred the short version of it. Another tease in our routine.

"Hmm?" It was the only sound I could make with my bottom lip between my teeth.

His hand climbed my back to hold my face, the light caress leaving a tingling trail in my damp skin, until his palm cupped my jaw. As he held our motion, I was mesmerized by his intense gaze. Each stroke of his fingertips on the nape of my neck sent a wave of desire that reached the lower part of my body, right where we were joined.

He licked his lips looking between my eyes and my month. My tongue came out to moisten my own as an automatic response as I heard his request.

"Can I go deeper? Can you take me?"

"Uuuuhhhh" I let out a moan along with my breath. "Yes, please. I need you, Edward. Anything. _Everything_…" I told him because I was in overload. I could keep nothing to myself right now. I would regret so much if I didn't tell him. He might not be here to hear if I wanted to say it later. He was leaving and we didn't know for how long.

He pulled out of me and I almost whimpered. But then he brushed his lips on mine and I opened my mouth, eager to have him in. When our tongues touched, he pushed inside me again. _All the way._

Without breaking our kiss he rocket my hips, shifting me in his arms. The new angle allowed him to go even deeper, more than I thought was possible. We both moaned with the feeling. I've never felt that complete before. He started moving again, in long and slow thrusts.

We were breathing hard and fast. His tongue was deep in my mouth. He was consuming me as eagerly as I wanted to take him. The feeling threatened to overwhelm me.

The intensity coming from him had only increased since the moment he'd found me earlier. I was developing the photos I had just enlarged from old film. Two reporters and I were organizing a special piece about the contemporary baroque period. It was the last month of a Velázquez exhibition at the Metropolitan and I had found in archives the negatives of photos of an exhibition that took place in the 70's. One of the reporters had cited that exhibition in his article and the designer wanted to use the images in the page composition.

I put the paper in the developing liquid and admired one of the pictures as the image came to life. A noise drew my attention to my phone vibrating in the counter.

_I, where are you? ~E_

Humpf.

_In the darkroom, developing some photos. I'll be out in a couple, but you can go ahead. ~B - not I._

_Ok, I. _;D_ But I won't be able to go 2day. Must talk 2 u. Have u alrdy fixated the films? Can I come in? ~E_

What could he possibly have to talk to me about that couldn't wait? It was Tuesday, the official drink day. We had settled on this particular weekday to enjoy happy hour, because Friday was crowded. Getting out on a Tuesday night also gave the illusion of a shorter week. The weekend always came faster this way.

He'd never missed a happy hour on such short notice. I was texting back to ask him why he had to bail out on me when I heard a low knock on the door.

"Isabella?"

"Urgh, will you quit with the full name thing already?" I asked in an annoyed tone of voice, only to hear his low laugh from the other side.

"So, can I come in without ruining your film roll?"

"I'm not developing a film. I'm just enlarging some old pics. And why can't you wait until later, anyway?" I asked while I gently rocked the tray back and forth to develop another photo.

"Hmm. Actually the reason I want to talk is the same I'm not able to go to the happy hour later…" He was quiet for a couple seconds. "Hey, girl, I'm standing here talking to a fucking door… I know most of the staff is already gone and no one will pass by and call me crazy, but…"

The alarm sounded interrupting him. I took the picture off the chemical, put it in the stop bath tray and went to the little room entrance.

As I opened the door as slightly as possible – so the light from outside wouldn't ruin my pictures – I could hear him loudly exhale. He seamed to relax as he did it.

"Thank you" he said stepping in.

I closed the door behind him and turned to look at him again. He looked aggravated. And that was a rare demeanor on him.

In fact, during this entire year I had only seen him like this once. It was the week following the coffee incident.

I had received an internal invitation in my inbox.

_Dear Editor,_

_It is an honor to announce another conquest of our newspaper. The special series "War in terror's hole,__" by Edward Cullen (published in The NY Daily Globe from 27 to 31 October 2008) won the George Polk Award. You are invited to attend the dinner party that will be settled next..._

"Are you going tonight?" Angela, one of the reporters who worked with me, asked.

"Where?"

"Cullen's party... Didn't you receive the e-mail? He won a priz-"

"Oh, yeah, I was just reading. But the dinner is only next week, it says…" I passed my eyes through the screen again to be sure.

"Oh, yes. The dinner is. But the guys in international and political will throw him a little party tonight in their newsroom. You know, a less formal celebration…" She informed.

"Hmm… Well, I don't think I can be there…" Mostly because the honoured of the day didn't exactly get along with me… Why would I go there, anyway? "But you should go and have fun," I encouraged her.

Later that evening I was in the bar down the street having a drink by myself. It had been a tough day, I guess. I was at the bar and heard when the stool next to me was moved.

It was him. But he didn't seem to have noticed me. His expression almost made me forgive him for his harsh words the prior week. Almost.

"You should be happy," I told him. He turned to look at me seeming a little confused at first. I could see in his eyes when he'd recognized me.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah… I am. _Very_ happy…" His barely noticeable sigh only showed that he really wasn't. He waved and the bartender gave him a foreign beer. I assumed he was a regular. "You didn't seem very happy last week though…" He teased, taking a sip from the bottle and smiling crookedly at me. What a smug. Beautiful charming smug.

"Yeah. That. It was choice between leaving the kitchen or wasting all my karate on the editor-in-chief's goody-goody reporter…" I said without looking at him.

"Wow. Tough…" He laughed lightly and his smile widened. "I wouldn't guess you were the violent type." And _more_ teasing.

"Usually I only hit when asked to." I needed to show him I was no pushover.

"Fair enough. But I can see you're still angry. Just don't send me the doctor's bills when you get an ulcer from so much karate restraint, please".

"Are you always such a prick?" I had to ask.

"Actually no… But I guess some people just stir up the best in us, right?"

"Right…" I let that one go.

We kept drinking and his distant and cold expression came back after a while.

"So… Why are you here while your friends are throwing you a party back in the editorial room?" He kept looking ahead, his elbows fixed on the bar, his big hands and long fingers playing with the condensation on the beer bottle. He chuckled and turned his head at me, lifting one eyebrow.

"Curious, are we?"

"Aren't all journalists?" He had to know my curiosity was more about human behavior than about him. _Yeah, right. _

"Hmm… I didn't know that could be applied to the ones who worked in culture section and barely left newsroom, though..." He spat and I rolled my eyes. "However, let's just say I don't like all the attention."

"U-huh. You're so shy after all, right?" I mocked.

"It's not so much about shyness… It's more about… satisfaction."

I was left hanging. What he said didn't make any sense to me. "You're saying winning prizes, money and prestige doesn't satisfy you?"

"No… I would be lying if I said that. Having award-winning articles is always good when you want the editor to believe some expansive special covering your work is worth it… And the prize money's nothing to be sneezed at. But, I don't know." He looked at the game that was playing on the TV inside the bar before concluding quietly. "I guess war and death is no reason for partying and celebrating."

I didn't quite understand his behavior, but I could sympathize with the feeling.

"You shouldn't feel guilty for this. It's a good thing people come to know the horror of war, you know? And if you get an award for reporting this, it only means you did a good job."

"Yeah, but celebrating or being happy about it would make me feel kind of a monster." The harsh statement softly said in a velvet voice knocked down some of the walls I had built around him in my head.

I tried putting myself in his place. He had spent the last seven years of his life between the US and Middle East reporting executions, terrorist attacks and missile fires that destroyed entire cities, houses, families. I guess he had seen too much. Too much loss, too much death and way too much blood.

"Why you do this?"

"Do what?" He seemed truly confuse.

"Why did you choose to be a war correspondent?"

He didn't think for long before answering. "Well… Besides that being the dream of most journalism students… I really like the idea of being able to write history in present tense. I get to see with my own eyes facts people will only know through other people or books for years, decades or even centuries ahead."

"I see… I know you'll scoff at me for what I'm about to say, but… Yeah, and I can blame Steinhäger afterwards if you annoy me and I feel obligated to use my karate skills on you, please remember this…" Liquor had definitely got me at that point.

"Oh, I will. Please, go on." He looked amused.

"Ok. No, it's just I believe the most used and also the better way to tell a nation's history or even human history is through art," I said, putting a daring look in my face.

"Don't you think you're kind of biased, being the culture editor?" he said dismissively.

"Oh, no. I trust facts to talk by themselves with no need of my opinion whatsoever. Let's see… Picasso's _Guernica _is the best representation of the inhumanity and brutality of Spanish Civil War, for example. Or let's take the _Sarajevo Haggadah_ for an instance. This book, this beautiful artistic manuscript, can tell the history of several people, and not only Jewish. Its pages survived the obscure period of the Middle Ages to the Holocaust and the Serbian genocide of the 90's. And those are just a couple cases...."

He took a long gulp of his beer, without removing his gaze from my face. I fought to avoid the blush that threatened to come to my face at the fierceness of his narrowed eyes. His voice was low and harsh when the talked.

"Nice speech. But, let's add more evidences to your cases, shall we? Picasso's painting is that important historically speaking because it's about a war. The Haggadah, in its turn, is even more important to human history because it has survived many close calls _during_ wars. Sorry to stain your colorful dreams, girl, but true history is written with blood. And by the winner's point of view, of course."

I had to check my jaw to be sure it was not hanging. "Ok. That's a pointless quarrel anyway. I won't convince you about the importance of arts and culture journalism. And I'm not buying the prattle about how being a war correspondent is the best job in this field either."

"Hey, I didn't say I had the best job –"

"Again, pointless quarrel…" I interrupted him.

He shifted his position in the stool, turning his torso to the TV and away from me, showing unease.

I sighed. "Ok. As much as I know you love wars, I'll wave the white flag here." I said, putting my hands up and opening my palms to him. "What are your plans now? Going back to Middle East?"

"Actually, no. After Obama declared the intention of ending the war, there've been more combats here in the US then in Iraq – politically speaking, of course. So, I won't leave the country so soon."

And he really didn't. Through the following twelve months he stayed in the States. He wrote great articles during that time. A remarkable one he did with Jasper's help. Their investigative work culminated in the discovery of a tax fraud scandal involving a former New York City police commissioner.

Between the two of us, our truce was only partial and we ended up battling frequently after that day. But that aggravated look I saw on him that first Tuesday never came back.

Until now, when he stood in front of me in this little amber lighted darkroom. But even the frustration in his eyes didn't lessen the gloriousness in him. His pouty lips were separating and joining together nonstop, while he seemed to be rehearsing something to say and didn't emit any sound.

The darkroom was really small and mostly unneeded nowadays, since the emergence of digital cameras. We were really close in the restricted space, my back almost against the wall. I could feel the heat pouring from his body to mine.

"What is it? You're making me nervous…"

"Uh. Ok. What time was it when you left newsroom?"

"I don't know… Around 5 o'clock I guess… Why, what time is it now?" I asked him because my phone was still in the counter, behind him, and I couldn't reach it.

"It's eightish, I guess…."

"Wow… I had no idea it took me so long to find these films and begin developing the photos…" I trailed off, looking around me.

"Yes, well. Focus. I came to tell you something, remember?" He said in a rushed way, with an alarming tone in his voice.

I crossed my arms in front of me waiting.

"Ok. This afternoon an earthquake affected Haiti."

"How big was it?" I asked quickly.

"A magnitude seven," he answered in a weak voice.

"Oh my God! That's terrible…" my comment was muffled by my hand that had reached my mouth in a reflexive motion.

Automatically my mind flew to the little Caribbean island I only knew from TV, news and books. I thought about the suffering people, who had such a beautiful past – being the only nation born of a slave revolt, after winning their independence from France – and such a bloody and violent early history and present – with the 30-year-long dictatorial government of Pap Doc and Baby Doc and also the rebellion almost six years ago.

"Yeah… From what we saw and heard so far it's really disgraceful. The number of deaths can surpass one hundred thousand in Port-au-Prince area…"

"No shit!"

"Their government is appealing for humanitarian aid right now. Mostly to help looking for survivors. They think many people can be underground, below the damaged buildings…." He took a deep breath "And here it is… the paper needs to send someone there. They fixed a plane to the Dominican Republic that leaves in the early morning. And I need to… They asked me to… I… _I have to go_."

"NO!" The cry romped in my throat and went through my mouth before I could even think. "Are you nuts? Do you even know if the airplanes are landing there? And what about aftershocks? These big earthquakes never come alone, you know that!" I nearly shouted.

Then I noticed the way his eyes were widening and I realized what I'd done. I was being ridiculous. Both my hands covered my mouth and I closed my eyes in shame.

He had told me once why he had this job. He liked the danger, the adventure. He thought he had nothing to lose. He had no family, kids nor a wife. Not even a girlfriend. And what did I just do? He doesn't need anyone at his feet, looking after him. I was only his colleague. Yeah, a colleague who was obviously confounding stuff. Oh, so much for having my pride…

He caught my hands over my mouth and unclenched them from there. But he didn't let them go. I slowly opened my eyes. He looked at me with a frown in his face, transmitting confusion. His eyes trailed off of mine. He said the next words very weakly, still holding both my hands.

"I don't wanna go..."

Oh, my… Look at the mess I had made..."What do you mean? You have to go, it's your job. Who else would they send?" My voice showed all my restraint. My mind expressed that sentence. I knew he was the man for the task. Aro, the editor-in-chief, also knew that. He had been in Haiti already, reporting on the United Nations stabilization mission there five years ago. And he wouldn't have any language barrier either, with his flawless French.

But my body and my heart were not convinced by that, quite the opposite.

He let go of my hands and I felt the loss immediately. His fingers went to his head, tugging in that mess of a hair. A gesture I recognized after these months as his personal brand in moments of anxiety or anger.

"What the fuck!" _Yeah, anger it is..._ I thought. "I've been roaming around this fucked up city for the better part of the last year, digging and jumping for each slightly different agenda or investigation for the sake of surviving completely tedious... And when the first fucked up situation presents itself so I can go and actually do what I know what to do... I DON'T EVEN FUCKING WANNA GO!"

He was yelling now, still looking away, everywhere but me. That made me nervous and I could barely restrain the tears. When he turned to me his expression seemed to lighten up faintly. His voice was lower, but still harsh.

"Why, _Isabella_? Why do _you_ think that is?"

"Fuck you..." I said trembling and unable to stop a couple of sobs that came out while I spoke. "Fuck. You!"

"Oh, shit". He covered his face with his hands. "Girl, please. Don't cry. I can't handle crying, you know that...."

I took a very deep breath. When he dropped his hands I must had been appearing calmer, because his face and shoulders relaxed.

"Look, I'm sorry," he murmured in a kind way I hadn't seen on him before. He NEVER apologized. And he offended me a lot over this year with his teasing. But I guess I had never sounded defeated or weak like that before. "Hey, girl?"

"What?"

"Ask me. Ask me not to go…" He stepped closer. We were so close that I would touch him if I moved. If he took a deep breath his chest definitely would brush my body.

"Wouldn't you if I asked?" I questioned, not with hope, but with defiance in my eyes.

"No." If nothing else he had the decency to be honest.

I let a single sad chuckle out and went to the door.

Or at least that's what I tried. But in my attempt I bumped against his hard chest. And that was not the only hardness I felt. My hand accidentally rubbed the huge bulge in his slacks.

Not so accidentally, I left it there. I heard his strong intake of breath and while he closed his eyes I couldn't help but let mine be drawn where my hands were.

Fuuuck.

Of course I thought about him like that. All the time, actually. But I never imagined my implausible aroused deliberations to come truth. Especially because when he made me angry, which was a lot of times, the desire I had for him only made me more upset with myself than with him.

"Bella..." He murmured my name like a prayer. I quickly looked at his face and his eyes shot open. His face held the guilt of one caught while doing something very wrong.

I touched his length very softly with my fingertips and tiptoed until my mouth could reach his ear, where I whispered.

"Don't you mean _Isabella_?" It was my turn to tease him with it.

He gave an amused throaty chuckle before grabbing my neck in a rough delicious way. He looked at me and licked his lips. I wanted him to leave it for my tongue to moisten those luscious lips.

"I should leave now. But I don't know if I can." He began nosing my cheek, moving down. "God, _your scent_…" He mumbled, mostly to himself. When I felt hot air, the gentle touch of his lips in my neck, and his stubble on my skin, the point where I was coherent enough to form words was left behind. "You know this isn't right, yeah?"

"U-_huh_..." _I don't care anymore_, I wanted to say. If he was going away, at least I could have this. _We could have this._ My blood rushed everywhere but my brain. But if I couldn't speak, I could act. I started opening the buttons of his shirt, purring kisses on each new bit of skin I found.

Without moving our hands off each other, we discarded his shirt and my dress. Then he firmly cupped my chin and I tried not to stare directly into his eyes.

"Look at me," he muttered. When I met his gaze he gave me his crooked smile. "I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, _Isabella_."

I don't know how long ago he had said that. I had lost track of time. I only knew from the growing intensity between us that it wouldn't last much longer.

"Fuck. I can't. Girl, come with me. I need to feel you coming around me."

The harsh request surprised me.

"Oh, Edward. Uuhhh…" I said in a noisy moaning way.

Edward kissed my lips gently and my cheek, reaching my ear, where he spoke softly. "As much as I would love to hear you yell _my name_… we can't be any louder, ok, girl?" His words and the hot air reaching that sensitive point in my skin put me right where he was asking me to go.

"Edward," I followed his low tone. "Please. More. Make me come around your hard cock, please…."

"Shit." He picked up his pace, thrusting into me relentlessly. "Fuck, I can feel you… clenching me. Fuck. Bella…"

He reached my lips again and kissed me hard. I felt his hardness pulsing inside me. Each pulse echoed one of the pleasure waves that threatened to split me in pieces.

It was so much. Almost too much.

He held me tight while we caught our breath, until I could collect the domain over my legs again to stand up.

Within minutes we were fully dressed once again. He opened the door and leaned against the frame. He kept silently watching me while I discarded the ruined photos. In every movement I made I could feel his eyes on me, burning me in the best way. Suddenly I felt unease. Not for what we had just done, though.

"Edward?" I turned to look at him, playing with the edges of the couple photos I had managed to develop.

"Hmm?"

"Please. I… I just need you to say this. You're going to take care of yourself, right?" I don't know what came to me. I was feeling frail and hated that.

He closed the door once again and turned back to me. His smile carried a hint of mischievousness.

"Of course, _Isabella_. I can't risk leaving you without another taste of my hard cock, can I?"

"You're an asshole," I retorted. I had to repress a laugh so I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. But I think he noticed what he (and his hard cock) did to me.

"Asshole, huh?" He approached me, cornering me once again, this time against the counter I had just cleaned up. One of his hands held me by my waist while the other grabbed one of my ass cheeks and squeezed hard. "Yes, if you really want it, we could try that."

I managed to hold in a whimper. I definitely didn't want him to win this round.

So I moistened my lips before replying, delivering my best sexy voice.

"Maybe when you're back," I smiled, tilting my head slightly and fluttering my eyelashes at him.

He pleased me, widening his eyes and looking pretty much caught off guard.

Yeah...

Definitely next time.

*~*~*~*

_A/N: I know… Bella is such a tease, right? I hope until next week I get to update this story with its last part. If you like it, please add it to your story alert. You can talk to me on Twitter, I'm BraGirl2 there._


	2. Aftermath

**_A/N: Thank you for all the love on Twitter. And huge thanks to the friends who lent their FFn accounts to my mother so she could review the first part of this o/s. All jokes aside, I mean… I thought only my mother would take the time to say such sweet words. You guys rock! I had a great time writing this last part, I hope you also enjoy the trip._**

**_I own everything to my übersweet and übertalented beta, TwilightMundi, for being an amazing friend, teacher and even a therapist when needed. She was able to decipher another PortEnglish enigma to make this text work._**

**_Disclaimer: Edward, Bella and the whole gang belong to Stephenie Meyer.  
_**

~*~*~*~

**Aftermath  
**

To say he was _not_ happy to see me would be the understatement of the decade. We were in a van with other reporters who came here with me using the empty seats on a flight run by the Air Mobility Command. The support of the American Air Force was a great help in situations like these.

I was tired. Both emotionally and physically. Already. I hated myself for that and kept thinking the same mantra over and over: _I'm strong._ _I'm not giving up_.

"Where are we going, exactly?" I asked in a hushed voice, turning to him.

"The hotel. I'll try to call Aro. There are flights coming and going all the time. Hopefully, we can manage to put you on a plane back home by tonight," he answered, speaking slowly and looking at me as if I was a little child. That both warmed my chest and pissed me off.

I tried to keep calm. At least he was being nice and didn't seem so angry anymore… Let's just say he was _very_ surprised when he saw the photographer he went to pick up at the airport was _me_.It wasn't the pleasant surprise I wished for him to demonstrate, though.

My heart clenched with the thought and my throat tightened. _Maybe I should have listened to Alice_. My best friend had said I was crazy by coming here like this. As a work colleague of Edward and me, Jasper knew better and was really helpful convincing Alice she shouldn't put me through a hard time about this.

Leave it to Jasper to convince that little force of nature. He had proved to actually be the perfect gentleman I thought he was when we first met a year ago. He and Alice were dating for awhile now and looked perfect together. He assured me they would talk to Charlie if he called. _If_. To Renee I only sent an email informing her I had an assignment outside the city. At least I wasn't lying. _Poor mom._

But my relief was stronger than the affliction I felt thinking about those I had left back home. _I am here with him, after all_. Besides, I had swallowed my pride when I internally admitted a few things a week ago. I wasn't fighting with _myself_ anymore. I needed all my strength if I wanted to fight _him_. And I would. For both of us.

"Edward. Listen. I get it you don't want me here…"

He interrupted me.

"I wished it was so simple. That's not…"

And I returned the favor.

"Doesn't matter. I'm not going back. You're not doing this on your own. Not anymore."

"Isabella, drop it." _Oh, I was Isabella again… _"We'll do what we've been doing for the last four days. We can use photos from that Haitian agency or AP or whatever…" he huffed.

I looked around and saw we were getting some attention from our colleagues. _Ugh_. Journalists are always curious.

I had to lean in his direction even more so I could whisper in his ear. We were sitting side by side. Our legs brushed and my memory went back to the last time we had been so close, before he came here. _How inappropriate_, I chastised myself.

"Those photos are much too general. Aro said you complained yourself that they weren't fitting your articles, _Edward_." I thought I felt him shiver very lightly when I said his name. I felt the heat crimsoning my face and used one second to put my thoughts together.

Then I kept talking. I was a woman on a mission. "We have the best articles in the whole coverage of the disaster." I saw the light smile playing on his lips due to my compliment.

_The egotistical bastard_.

"But they don't have as much space as they should have because the images are the same everyone else has. They don't fit the text. I don't have to tell you this. You need a photographer with you. And I'm your only option."

_There_. I wanted to see what he'd say to that.

I wasn't kidding. When Caius went sick and Marcus refused the job – the man had three kids, no one can blame him – Aro went nuts. It happened two days ago.

I was going nuts myself, worrying about Edward. Every new article I read on the web, describing the horror and the death, made me think of him here, all by himself. Facing the destruction, sleeping the first nights at Air Canada luggage container...

I knew he had worked in similar or worse conditions before. But I didn't know him before. _I hadn't been left behind before_.

When Aro came to the newsroom all red, the air fuming through his nose almost visibly, and complaining about _how every single freelance photographer was deployed in Haiti already_… I didn't think.

"I'll do it," I'd told him. His face paled at that very moment and he asked me, all recomposed and suave as he uses to be, if I had experience. I showed him the portfolio I kept in one of my drawers. "Mesmerizing," he had said about my work.

Well, I was a fine photographer. Not the best, but taking nature pictures was a hobby. I had studied photojournalism in college, but never get to work with it. _And that's how you choose to start_, I thought to myself, looking at the apocalyptic scenery through the window. I glanced at Edward seated by my side and saw when he took a deep breath, inclining in my direction. _Oh, my…_

Don't ask me where it came from. I don't know. But I guess _something had changed_ during that moment we shared in the darkroom before he left. _I had changed_. To know he was going through this and I was home with crossed arms… it was killing me.

"It _is_ going to kill you, you know?" He told me. His hot sweet breath washing over my face.

"What?" He had taken me by surprise. _Was he reading my mind just now?_

"This. We _may_ survive the aftershocks and all other physical threats, but it will kill you a little on the inside… I don't want that." He leaned back and I looked at his eyes. They were opaque, in a darker shade of green. It sent quivers down my spine.

His words were still echoing inside my head when our vehicle pulled up to the hotel downtown. Edward grabbed the heavier bag full of equipments and went inside while I waited for the driver to give me the bag with my clothes. I had packed a few jeans, t-shirts and Converse shoes. My Chanel-like dresses didn't leave my closet in New York.

As I grabbed my bag, I tried not to look at the CNN reporter who was emptying her stomach on the side of the road.

"It's the smell of death," said one of the U.N. volunteers who had come in the van with us. "Not everyone can take it. You must be pretty strong yourself… You don't feel nauseated?"

"I'm fine, thank you", I said politely, retreating inside the hotel.

Yes, the smell was beyond anything I'd never experienced in my whole life. But just taking a quick glance at our surroundings I knew I had no reason for complaining. Not that I was afraid I might die at this living hell of a place. Not that I felt insecure about actually being able to do the work I signed up for – not having any previous experience. Not even that the man that was the main reason I had put myself at this situation didn't want me by his side.

The aforementioned man was pulling at his own hair in front of the elevator. His eyes were closed. I approached lightly.

"Hey…"

He opened his eyes and looked down at me.

"I talked to the people from the recue teams. They have to prioritize places for survivors on the flights that leave here. You'll have to stay a few days at least. Sorry."

"Well, I am not," I said and walked in the elevator, which had just opened its doors.

"Fuck, Bella. This is not like the silly disputes we have at home."

"I'm not a child, Edward. I want to help. I have to do _something_," I insisted.

"By putting yourself in danger? I'm sure that won't help!" He hissed, leading me out of the elevator when we reached our floor and through the hall until we stopped by the door. His features softened when he opened it. "They don't have any more rooms. You'll have to stay here with me."

His sweet tone was full of unnecessary apologies.

"Only bed?" I pointed to one of the three peaces of furniture in the room. The others were a simple chair and a big closet. The hotel was only a shadow of the famous resort it was a few days ago. The photos on the promotional material I had seen at the lobby downstairs mocked the current state of the place.

"There were two this morning when I left for the airport… The receptionist said they had to take the other to one of the guys that are sleeping by the pool." Yes, I knew the king-size bed and the private bathroom were luxuries only a few there had. "Don't worry. I can sleep on the floor," he finished in a matter-of-factly tone.

"Ok, I understand we don't have to mention anything that happened between us. We're here to work. And it's a fucked up situation. But you don't have to be ridiculous about that either," I snapped. It was fine by me that I didn't get one single hug when he saw me there – or the kiss I was dreaming about on the way here – but I could no longer pretend he wasn't hurting my feelings by not acknowledging me. "By the way, you can stop trying to keep me away. I won't hide inside this hotel while you take all the risks," I threatened.

"I can't… I _won't_ let anything happen to you." His eyes burned me with their intensity and I felt the air shifting between us. Hasn't he gotten it? It wasn't about me.

"I'm not worried about myself so much," I said looking intensely at his beautiful face. I wanted so much to touch him.

Edward's lips set a hard line and he huffed. "Why am I not surprised by that?" he muttered, turning away towards the door. "You'll want to have a shower. And eat, too. We're leaving with the U.N. to report the search for survivors. I'll wait for you in the lobby. I'll see you in twenty." And before I could think of an answer, he was gone.

Having a quick shower was not a problem. As I've figured, there was no hot water.

The first thing I noticed once we were outside was the sound of helicopters. They mixed with the symphony of horns in the traffic jam. We followed the U.N. armored personnel and the U.S. soldiers through the searches in the collapsed buildings.

In those places the smell was even worse and the quantity of flies was very distracting. They sometimes flew so close to the lens I had to take extra shots so I could have something without black spots on it.

I quickly discovered the camera was a great disguise. When they pulled bodies from the mountains of broken bricks and concrete, I could hide my shocked blurry eyes behind the lens.

I kept a certain distance from Edward the whole time. Not so far that I didn't follow what he was focusing on and not so close as to get distracted by him. It was ridiculous the effect he had on me, even in a situation like this.

We were going through a survivor camp with the U.N. soldiers and I lost Edward from my sight. When I looked back I spotted him, peeking inside an old and broken van, trying to talk to someone.

I approached and saw there was a woman there and she had her family with her. They were a man holding two crying kids and a third child who appeared to be playing by the floor. The woman didn't seem to hear what Edward was telling her in French.

"I guess she only speaks Creole," Edward said when he saw me near him.

I shook my head lightly. "I don't think that's the case." I reached for the single bottle of water in my bag and handed it to the man. He took a sip and gave it to the two babies. They stopped crying. The other kid also drank and he handed the rest to the woman.

She started talking in French. Edward asked a few questions and left. I used all the sentences I knew in a foreign language so I could take their picture.

"_Pardon. Excuse moi. S'il vous plaît…_" I said over and over, feeling guilty for not being able to help them further.

On the streets I took some pictures of people looting and scavenging for something to eat. Young men carried heavy guns and I asked Edward why the soldiers didn't do anything about it.

"Think of them as people who've lost everything. Yes, we saw some occasional gunshots in the first couple of days. But the fact is they're only scared," he told me.

When we went back to the hotel, I uploaded the memory card and selected the best photos while Edward used the other computer to write his articles. I offered to help him, writing side texts or anything and he said I didn't have to. I didn't insist.

"Let me see what you have there," he said, asking for the photos. I paid attention, looking for any sign of approval on his poker face. His features didn't change, but he held his breath, stopping at the pictures of the family inside the van. I had used a wide-angle lens. The focus was on the woman's face. Her husband and kids were blurry by her side. With impassive eyes, she looked outside, to the wreckage that Port-au-Prince had become.

"I think we have our cover," he murmured. I nodded, incapable of saying anything and went to take another shower.

I felt as I had brought the smells of the city to the hotel with me. It was on my clothes, on my hair, my skin. I wanted to wash them off. But apparently it took more than just soap and water to erase death's stink.

We slept together in the bed that first night and all nights after that. Fully dressed and above the sheets, Edward was very careful to avoid touching me. But I could feel the heat pouring through him towards me even through the cloth. That comfort cloud was the only thing that allowed me to sleep in such circumstances, with those horrible images inside my head, still hearing the echo of noises and crying from the streets.

In the following days he only talked to me when needed. Work stuff, mostly. Or some complaints about my eating habits. He said I wasn't eating enough and that it was irresponsible of me because I couldn't get sick. But I had no appetite. And he was no different. He ate breakfast, ignored lunch and took some bites at dinner. But he seemed as healthy as always, while the rings under my eyes went darker and my pants got loose at my waist. I couldn't help it.

After that cover, the other photographers from agencies, newspapers and magazines came to talk to me when we were covering the same issue or area. Of course I wasn't Bella. I was Edward's photographer. Or Edward's girl, as they said. The first time one of them had said it, I tried to clear up.

"It's not like that…" I said to him. When I looked to Edward, he was glancing at me. His eyes were hard. I couldn't decipher why. He seemed offended somehow. After that, every time someone called me Edward's girl I pretended I hadn't heard, but didn't try to correct either.

Each day there seemed like a lot more. I had arrived on Sunday. We did so much and slept so little that by Tuesday it seemed I was there for a week at least. Tuesday evening Edward was writing the articles of the day, about the lack on advances in survivor searches and the beginning of a series of epidemic diseases that were hard to control because they had to ration the very limited stock of medication available.

I used that time to take pictures and get some information during a voodoo ritual downtown. The nighttime streets were alive, full of people. I was planning on writing a piece to be published in the Culture section on the following Sunday.

To appease the spirits, traditional ceremonies were organized mainly to seek the blessing of ancestors for the earthquake victims. They kept saying "Bon dieu bon" and the U.N. translator told me that meant "God is good." That's what they believed in, whatever happens. Everything was God's will and they had to accept it, since nothing could be done about it. The more I knew, the easier it became to like, to respect and to hope.

Between the streets' candle lights I felt warmed up, realizing at least those people were willing to stick to their faith and rebuild their lives. When I went back to the hotel, Edward was already sleeping. I took the regular cold and quick shower. When I laid down beside him he reached for me and took my hand.

"Bella…" he whispered lightly, and I wished he was awake. As I closed my eyes I felt my hand vibrate from the overwhelming energy that came from his skin. My warm thoughts faded into beautiful colors I hadn't seen in my dreams in exactly one week. _So close and yet so distant…_

*****

I woke up the following morning and the sight before me was heaven. Edward. Already bathed, hair still wet, dressed up in dark jeans and a deep blue button down shirt.

"I'm going to have breakfast. It's very early. We're going out right after six today. You can continue to sleep if you want to…" he offered.

"No… I don't want to be here alone. Can you wait for me?" I scratched my eyes with my palms. My voice was husky from sleep and I was sure my hair was wild. I glanced up at him and he had that crooked smirk on his face.

"You're very funny waking up, you know that?"

"Hey… I think you were the one who said _no teasing_! It has to work both ways…" I whined and he left the room still laughing.

During those too short seconds I forgot where we were, the horror that waited for us outside those walls. We were Edward and Bella once again. Talking, playing and giggling with each other.

Still thinking about him, I closed the shower door behind me, shivering because of the cold water. I was wrapping myself with a fluffy white towel when I felt the first shake. I knew what _it_ was. The last couple of days we felt the ground trembling a few times.

That's how I knew that time _it_ wasn't a light tremor. _It_ was a frigging quake.

I closed my eyes tightly, taking deep breaths. I felt the quake getting stronger and stronger and held myself beside the doorway, between the bedroom and the bathroom.

_Oh, my God. Please, protect Edward. I hope he's safe. I'll do anything if you spare him._

I didn't want to open my eyes, so I couldn't see and was only able to hear the noise of glass breaking and the muffled sounds of books and shampoo bottles hitting the floor.

I hadn't heard him entering, though. I just felt his arms coming around me, holding me tight. I rested my head on his shoulder and let his scent envelop me, making me feel protected.

"Bella… Bella, honey…" He said very lowly, close to my ear. "Can you stand up, love?"

Only then I opened my eyes and realized I had been sitting on the floor. _What had he called me?_

"But the-the quake… We can g-get hurt. The ground is not s-stable yet," I said amongst light hiccups. I must've been crying too.

"It was an aftershock, darling. A very strong one this time, but it has stopped. You're still shivering, though…" He leaned back and looked to my face while we stood up together. He kept holding me and ran the tip of his fingers from the corner of my eye to my chin, following the track my tears had made.

I closed my eyes again and relished his soft touch and the way he felt so near to me.

"Beautiful…" he whispered.

I opened my eyes and, looking at his green ones, took his hand with both of mine. I brought to my lips the long fingers that had touched me a second ago.

I kissed the tip of each one, very slowly, tasting the salt of my own tears on them and then his sweet skin. I couldn't stop looking at him even if I wanted to. And I really didn't.

His eyes hadn't left my mouth the entire time. His eyelids were heavy and his lips were parted. His breath reflected my own. Fast. Shallow. Intense.

"Edward… _please_. I just need… I need to feel you." I dropped his hand gently to play with the waistband of his jeans, asking for permission to go further.

He let out a low groan and it sent vibrations deep inside me.

"Don't say things like that… Don't torture me," he begged, stopping my hands on the edge of his zipper.

_What? Why?_

"You… You don't want to… be with me?" Through the shy whisper I let out my biggest fear.

He was looking into my eyes. _So intense_. I think my blood could start boiling anytime soon. It was hot… everywhere.

"I couldn't _want_ anything more than that. I can't. I… _never._" He said the last word in a breathy voice. His mouth was so close. I wish I could just… just… Oh. He closed his eyes and stepped back.

"Bella… I want you. I want to be with you like that. Since that time I…" He sighed and took a breath to continue. He looked at me again and leaned his hands against the wall, one on each side of me. "Leaving New York that night was the hardest thing I ever did. I didn't want to be apart from you. After being close like that… It was almost… ugh. _Physically painful_."

He was telling me he felt just like… like I felt. But why he was so upset when he saw me? I didn't understand.

"So… why did you treat me like that when I arrived here? And why…" I dropped my voice a little, "… can't I tell you… that I need you?"

"Fuck, Bella…" He moistened his lips before answering. "The first one you know. I just… I don't want you to get hurt. I can't stand the risk for you... This is no place for you."

_Ugh. _It would be so easy to be mad at him… If I wasn't everything _but_, that is.

"And the second one?"

"The second one…" He gave me a little smile, the crooked smirk that melted my heart. "It's because when you say things like that…"

He flexed his arms beside me coming closer and I felt my nipples hardening to the brush of his chest.

"When I say things like what…? That I need you?" My voice was giving away every drop of my arousal.

I grabbed the hem of his shirt.

"Isabella… You don't know what you're doing…"

"You don't tell me… How can I know?" I challenged him.

"This is not the time or the place… And there are certain things you say… Certain things you do… Ugh. You have no idea how hard it was. I resisted you for a whole year. It wasn't easy. But it was only my imagination then. These couple of days, on the other hand… It has been a living hell."

_Wow. I had no idea. _I opened my mouth to apologize but he didn't give me the chance to interrupt. "How can I concentrate on work knowing you're so near my reach? Knowing exactly what I'm missing? I can barely find in my solid willpower the strength to _avoid_ pinning you just like that…"

_Oh, my wrists._

"… And _hold off_ the desire of being inside you in a minute."

_Holy shit._ What can I say to that? I heard my own whisper before I could help myself.

"I wonder what you would need this minute for…"

He dazzled me with _my_ smile before covering my mouth with his own. His lips felt exactly like I had replayed in my head for the last week. Soft, full, demanding. I _needed_ a taste. When my tongue touched his skin he let out a heavy breath. And his scent… _Oh my_… _I'm feeling dizzy_.

"More," I asked, breathing fast.

He pulled his hands that were restraining my arms above us. _Shit. Me and my eagerness_. Oh, wait.

His hands were on my face now, hugging me to him. I immediately obeyed his silent request and kissed him with all I had. _Hmmm_. Again, better than I remembered. I was moaning. I couldn't help it.

_I'm losing myself in him_.

"Yes. Yes, touch me," he said against my neck, making me shiver. Only then I realized I had put my hands beneath his shirt and was running my palms up and down his strong back. "I love your hands on me," he let it out while peppering kisses on my jaw before taking my lips again.

His lips and tongue left a hot and humid trail down my neck, across my collarbones and shoulders. He stopped by the little tuck that prevented the towel from falling down my body.

I couldn't help the whimper I let out when I saw him pulling the end of the thick cloth… with his teeth. _Holy shit…_

He held the unfolded towel with his hands, still covering me and took a step back. When he looked at me I knew he was asking for permission.

I nodded and watched his stunning expression while he carefully unwrapped the towel and revealed my naked body.

"Paradise," he breathed.

Suddenly he was on his knees.

"Edward, what are you…" _Oh._ He held my waist with both his hands and nuzzled my stomach, kissing and licking my navel. "Uuhhhh…"

"Hmm… Your taste is even better than your scent…"

His eyes full of lust were locked up on mine. He bent one of my knees, pulling my leg. My thigh rested on his shoulder and I was completely open. He didn't stop looking up at me, not even while he slowly moved forward to lightly kiss the tip of my clit.

"Uuuuhhhnn," we moaned in unison.

"Jesus, Bella…" he breathed before he started licking me, over and over again.

The only thing I could do was moan nonstop. My head rested on the wall and my eyes were closed, unable to focus on anything but his mouth on me.

"_Oh._"

The keen way his lips moved.

"_Oh._"

His tongue against my sweet spot. Flicking. Circling. Rubbing.

"_Oooh…_"

His teeth now and then grazing at my sensitive skin and adding to the sensation.

"_Oh… uuuuhh!_"

It was too much. And when I felt his finger pressing into me, filling me, brushing at places I wanted to be pressed, filled and brushed by otherparts of him… I couldn't take it anymore.

"_Edwwaaard_… Just. Uh. _Please_."

"Let it go, babe. I need to feel you _just like this_. Let it go…"

With that he curved his finger inside me and bit oh-so-lightly on my clit. And everything in me exploded.

"_Uuuuhhnn!_"

"Oh, Bella… You're so beautiful. I want you so much. _Fuck._" I finally opened my eyes and he was standing in front of me now.

I started to open his shirt and he helped me to take it off. I had just begun trailing kisses down his neck and chest, unbuttoning his pants, when he held me.

"I said a minute. That seems like hours ago. I need to be inside you _now._"

"Hmmm…"

"Hey…" He smiled between kisses. "I realized I don't have to take you up against a wall again…"

I smiled too and kept kissing him. "But I like the wall..."

"I know you do… As so do I. But I think we won't mind the bed either."

I giggled. "Ok, come here," I invited, taking his hand and resting on my side on the mattress.

He stopped in front of me, only in unbuttoned and opened pants. I propped myself forward so I could brush my lips and nuzzle his length through his boxers. _Delicious_. The prospect of taking him that way made my mouth water andwetness pool between my legs.

He sighed. "_Isabella_… I said _inside_. And that's not the way I meant."

_Fuck._ I was up on my knees on the bed in no time. I kissed his jaw and his neck while pushing his pants down. Before I could notice, he was out of them. As he rolled a condom over his hard shaft I savored the great sight he was… completely naked before me. _Glorious_.

"Sorry. I can't resist teasing you…" I said and had to bite my lips to prevent a banter smile.

"I see… I think I can make you pay for that." He murmured in a husky voice, laying me down on my back and propping himself above me. One of his forearms held him while he ran his free hand up from my ankle to my thigh, bending my knee on the way, holding my leg beside his chest. I could feel him against every inch of my body.

"Yeah? And who's teasing now?" I mumbled against his lips.

"I'm not where I was supposed to be… yet. So I guess _it's still you, babe_." The last words left his lips with a breath while he took my mouth softly.

He was so hard I could feel him pulsing between us. So near the place we both wanted it to be…

"_Edward_, now… please."

He deepened the kiss then. His tongue explored my whole mouth. He sucked my top lip and I nibbled his bottom one just as I felt him entering me. _Oh_. So slowly. He ignited me bit by bit. _The sweetest torture_.

It was so different from the first time. There was no urgency. Just the two of us. The rest of the world was nonexistent.

We couldn't be closer than this and it still wasn't enough for me. He continued to kiss me intensely. We moaned in each other's mouths, moving together, our hips meeting in the end of each long deep thrust.

In that moment it was easy for me to imagine we matched in desire too. I let myself think that maybe, just maybe, he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

And I really do. It's like I could devour him and it wouldn't be sufficient.

"More," he pleaded in a restrained voice. "Bella… _don't_ come yet."

I only moaned, knowing I was clenching on him inside and out.

"Fuck. It's already _so good_… If you come, I won't hold it. And I need more, babe…"

When he asked that, all I could do was tighten my grip. I pulled on his hair, willing him to give me access to his neck. Kissing and licking him, biting his skin. It became too much. "I want more too. I want more of you… in my mouth, Edward…"

"Oh… Fuck, Bella. Don't say… Uh." He breathed, suddenly pulling me with him while he sat back on the bed. I was now on his lap, straddling him. He kept saying random words, groaning against my breasts and sucking on my nipples as I moved on top of him.

"Edward… I won't… uuuhnn. I can't… hold much longer…"

I could feel the tense knots inside me being unfastened. Edward tightened his grip on my waist. I felt the pressure of his hands very low in my belly and the sensation was my undoing.

"Come, Bella. _Yes_… I can feel you... _God_."

I had to sink my mouth on his shoulder to prevent what would certainly be a loud scream. He had slowed our movements and we rocked against each other almost imperceptibly while I came down from my high.

"So good. It's so good, Edward. You're… _Uh_." _Unbelievable. _I wish I was able to tell him everything he had become to me. _Not the best timing_.

If I couldn't tell him now, I would show him. The _need_ to give him as much as he gave me urged me on.

"What are you doing?" he asked as I climbed off his lap.

I said nothing. I just pulled his shoulders gently so he would lie back on the bed. His eyes were curious but he accomplished my silent request.

"I'm doing what I told you I would…" I murmured in his ear, before pouring open mouthed kisses along his neck and shoulders. I discarded the condom and descended his body, enjoying every inch of him I could touch, kiss, lick or bite on the way.

"You're coming in my mouth, ok?" I pleaded and he groaned back at me.

"Shit… Bella, you don't have to…" he whispered and his voice gave away his arousal.

"Oh, Edward… Yes, I _have_ to. I _need_ to. You have no idea how much…" I said, right before licking his length from the base to the tip, sucking the precum there into my mouth._ Luscious. _"Oh, God…" I moaned between light kisses and soft caresses with my tongue, "you taste _sooo good_. It's amazing."

"Fuck, Bella… You're going to be the death of me, do you know that?"

"Hmmm…" was all I could say to that because I was already taking almost all of him in my mouth. My fingers and palm enclosed the part I couldn't fit inside me.

I sucked him with all the desire I had to literally devour him. To have every single drop of him he would give me. I was careful not to hurt him in my eagerness, but when my lips slipped and I scratched him gently with my teeth, he came hard in my mouth. I swallowed most of it, but it was all so intense I couldn't prevent a small leak that slipped from my lips.

I looked up at him and his gaze was the sexier than I had seen on him so far. Still breathing hard, he reached for my chin and cleaned it with his thumb. Before he dragged his hand away I reached for it and held his wrist. Our eyes were locked together when I sucked his finger to my mouth, tasting him again.

"Fuuuuck, Bella…" he groaned, biting his bottom lip and throwing his head down on the pillows.

I was looking up at him, resting my head on his thigh, while both of us evened our breathing.

"Come here, come closer to me." Edward asked, pulling my arms gently until I was by his side. We laid down facing each other. He gave me his crooked smile, _my smile_, and took a deep breath before talking.

"You are really something… I didn't know you had it in you…" he teased.

I laughed despite of myself. "Shut up!" The yell left me like a squeal and I blushed. He laughed hard and I punched him on the shoulder, hurting my hand a little, and joining him with my own giggles.

When we sobered up he gazed deeply at me and I felt the knots in my stomach start to tighten all over again. He dragged his hands, touching my skin oh-so-lightly from my hips to my waist, grazing the side of my breast until he reached my neck. I held my breath.

Edward pulled me to him and caught my top lip between his own. I breathed out before deepening the kiss, touching his lips with my tongue. We parted after a while and his features were very different. He looked sad.

"You were really scared before. It was… _tormenting_ seeing you like that. It was exactly the kind of situation I don't want you to go through when… ugh." His hand was running through his hair. From the gesture I knew he was anxious… or angry.

"Bella… I just want to know if… Do you want to go home early? I mean, I'll be here for another week or two, I guess. After that there won't be much more work for me here. Nothing different than what we could get from the agencies, I mean. If you want to go home before that, we can figure it out."

_Why he was trying to push me away? And _now _at all times!_ I took a deep breath, willing myself to not give in to my insecurity and the tears I could feel forming in my eyes. When I spoke, my voice was soft and dry.

"Edward, why do you think _I want _to go home? Do _you_ want me to go?" I put an effort in remain with a neutral expression. Edward, in the other hand, suddenly looked petrified.

"Shit. No! That's not what I was trying to say at all… I just don't want you to… _suffer_."

_Oh._

"Edward, I'm not suffering. It's a terrible, fucked up situation, for sure. But I'm trying to make the best of it. To leave them the best of me, too. I believe we are doing a good job here. I can see now what you used to say about writing history in present tense…" The last part was more of a thought I had out loud. And his smug smile made me regret it immediately.

"Wait a minute. Who are you and what did you do to _Isabella_ Swan, the girl who used to say 'the better way to tell human history is through art'?" He was laughing, but I was not amused.

"I'm still here…" Yes, I've changed. He had changed me, and I knew better than to say it was something from the past couple of weeks. The whole year we spent together, his company and the friendship I learned to cherish… All of that had made me change. "I just think a little differently now. I can even see what makes someone choose this kind of job. Unlike _certain people_, I'm not afraid of some modification, you know?"

"Ok. Now you're sounding more like my girl," he gave a deep, sexy chuckle._ That's what he thought of me? Am I his girl? Well… I hope so. _"But I have to agree with you… You are a little different. And not in a bad way, no… You are here for what? Four days? And our accident chart remains intact! Even in New York you couldn't go four days without at least a paper cut or something." I knew he was mocking me, but I had to laugh along at the reality of his statement.

"I know, right? I guess I'm doing a good job holding back my clumsiness," I giggled, but, out of the blue, his face was serious.

"You are doing a good job. Period."

_Wow._

"Really?"

"Of course, really. I even wish you… That you could consider it for a full time thing," Edward said softly.

"What do you mean? Do you want me to be your… photographer? To work with you?"

His bright smile grew wider. _Breathtaking_.

"As a start, perhaps."

"Oh, no… No word games with me, no, sir. I deserve better than this, don't you think?" I played with him, nudging his legs with mine. We were still lying down on our sides.

He held my thigh so I would stop and looked me with certainty in his eyes.

"I want _you_. I don't know if we can do this any other way than working together. Some part of me wants you to be safe in a newsroom, editing art stuff. But a bigger part wants you to be in the field with me."

I was astonished. I didn't want to open my mouth because of the risk of my jaw never locking back again.

We looked at each other expectantly for a couple minutes.

"Bella. I'm dying here. Please say something."

"You know, you were right earlier, when you said I was scared. I really was. But I was not afraid of the quake. I was afraid that you could be hurt."

"You were afraid… for me?" He seemed confuse.

"You weren't here! I was freaking out, thinking you could have left the restaurant, could be on the streets and something… Dear God. I can't even think…" I was breathing hard, hiding behind my palms. Just thinking something could happen to him made my heart sink. I wished he couldunderstand. I uncovered my face and begged, "Try to put yourself in my place!"

He looked… happy?

"Bella…" He whispered before pulling my body against his, dragging my mouth in a forceful kiss that took me by surprise. After a few seconds I willed myself to respond to his moves with the same amount of passion. _I want all of him_. When our mouths separated, he switched us so he was on his back and I rested my head on his shoulder. He kissed my temple and talked, still touching my skin and my hair with his lips the whole time.

"Girl, I don't need to put myself in your place, I was already there. Why do you think I climbed eight floors running up the stares like crazy? I couldn't wait for the elevator to start working; I didn't even think about it, really. I had to be here with you, babe. I was so worried. And seeing you like that, so scared, it broke me. I'm sorry I wasn't here, ok? I'm sorry."

He was mumbling against me, pouring kisses between his words. He had my heart and I could do nothing about it. I didn't _want to_ do anything about it. Unless give him even more.

We held each other for a long time. He ran his hand through my hair in a soothing caress that lulled me. I was almost yielding myself to dreams when he spoke again. More to himself than to me, it seemed.

"It won't be easy. It's all so new to me. But we'll work things out, ok? I just ask you to be patient, my love…" And with that I succumbed to sleep, smiling against the sweet skin of his neck.

We spent the entire day in bed. Talking, laughing and touching each other the whole time. Taking light naps in between. The antagonism of the situation didn't pass unnoticed by the both of us. We even talked about it at some point. The place we were at had the very "hell on earth" address these couple of days… And even there we could create a little bubble, our small piece of heaven. But I couldn't feel guilty about it. Something _that perfect_ couldn't be wrong.

When the sun went down, we got up and joined a rescue operation that included some members of urban squads from New York and Virginia who had worked at the 9/11 in 2001. We were at the Nazan district of Port-au-Prince. Edward talked to American earthquake experts and I was taking pictures of the salvage attempts.

It was there, during the night after the best day of my life, that I witnessed one of those things many people refer to as a _miracle_. From heavy pieces of broken bricks and piles of destroyed concrete, the heroes and heroines that worked in Haiti pulled out Kiki, an eight-year-old boy who defied the myth that people only survive being trapped for a couple of days or so.

I captured the moment when he was rescued and the picture speaks for itself. After eight days underground, Kiki shows all his hope and happiness in his little face in the moment he's freed. His open arms, his bright eyes and huge beautiful smile are a sight to behold. To look at and be thankful for life every single day.

We all celebrated the joy of that moment. Later that night, when we came back to the hotel, Edward made love to me again and asked one more time if I would accept his offer to be his partner. I said I needed to think about it.

"Nothing would make me happier than to be by your side, work with you and learn from you. But it's a big decision. I don't want to say I'll do it just to disappoint you later." I excused myself and he seemed to understand.

I had the answer only two days after that, when the article about the rescue of Wednesday night was published. On the cover, Aro had printed my photo in huge size, just below the headline Edward had suggested. Perfect.

"THEY HAVEN'T GIVEN UP HOPE," it said.

Reading that and looking at the image I'd taken, I suddenly had no more doubts.

His words and my photos were _meant to be together_. Just like the two of us.

~*~*~*~

**_A/N: The photo Bella took really exists in RL. It was taken by the New York photographer Matthew McDermott. The link is on my profile._**

**_Review if you can. It would be great to know your opinion._**

**_Love,_**

**_BraGirl2._**

_P.S.: Haiti's disaster was one of seven earthquakes that caused the death of 223.161 people in 2010 so far (today is 03/14). It means over two hundred thousand families lost their sons, daughters, mothers, fathers. That said, I humbly ask you: pray for these people. Think of those who lost their lives. Think even more of those who lost their loved ones and everything else they had._


	3. Aftershock in Japan  teaser

Aftershock in Japan (_teaser_)

Summary: Over one year has passed since a natural disaster brought them together. Edward decides to settle down, but Bella is still excited about the challenges and possibilities of her new career. Now a seaquake threatens to break them apart. _One-shot for the Fandom Fights Tsunami campaign. _EPOV.

~.~.~.~

I came home and she was putting clothes into a suitcase. The first thing that came to my mind was "fuck my life, she's leaving me". I could feel it in the pitch of my empty stomach. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me. And she was leaving. I had no idea what to do.

At least one last time, I thought.

So, I approached her from behind. She breathed deep. We weren't touching, but I could feel her heat. By the goose bumps on her skin, I knew she could feel me too. My fingers followed a path along her skin from her arms, over her shoulder, to the nape of her neck. I stepped closer; she had stilled what she was doing.

I leaned down and whispered over her ear, "please, girl … don't. Bella …"

I wish I could say more, but that would not be possible without chocking and making a fool out of myself. Since I was trying to convince her to stay, not to run away for good … I decided to shut up.

She turned to face me, but did nothing to get rid of my grip.

"Edward, we had this conversation earlier. I don't want to add anything more to hurt-"

Smashing my lips against hers, I kissed her. I didn't want to hear the words I was sure she was going to say, words to finish me, to break me in pieces, words that would hurt us even further. No way back.

~. ~. ~. ~

_A/N: The complete one-shot will be part of the Fandom Fights Tsunami compilation. There's still time to donate and get yours. Go to fandomfightstsunami (dot) blogspot (dot) com for more information. I'll post this o/s and the last part of the story here after June 29__th__._


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